


Natural Frequency

by msraven



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Clint Needs a Hug, Get Together, M/M, detective!Phil, mentalist!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for my Detective AU square on my trope_bingo card.</p><p>Detective Phil Coulson discovers something unexpected about his team’s mentalist, Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Detective

**Author's Note:**

> This AU uses the basic premise from the show The Mentalist, but I don’t think you necessarily need to have watched that to read this.
> 
> From wikipedia: Mentalism is a performing art in which its practitioners, known as mentalists, appear to demonstrate highly developed mental or intuitive abilities.
> 
> Clint Barton is a mentalist that works with Detective Phil Coulson and his team to solve crimes.

“Why are we meeting Watkins back at the house again?” Phil asks and then reaches over to swat Clint’s hand away from the radio. “Stop changing stations.”

As usual, Clint pulls his hand back before Phil’s can come close to making contact and Phil fights to keep his sigh internal. Phil will be the first to admit that he disagreed with Chief Fury’s decision to bring in a civilian consultant - a mentalist who had gotten caught passing himself off as a true psychic - and their first meeting was about a bad a first impression as you can get. 

Clint had swaggered into the room, holding his hand out with a wide grin and a, “Hey Phil! I’m Clint. Looks like we’ll be working together.”

Phil, more than a little taken aback by his sudden and nearly overwhelming attraction to the younger man, had shook Clint’s hand with a scowl. “It’s _Detective_ Coulson, _Mr._ Barton,” Phil had replied testily. “And whether what you do counts as work still remains to be seen.” 

Clint had physically recoiled and quickly pulled his hand out of Phil’s grip before turning a more subdued smile toward the others in greeting. 

Two years later, Phil and Clint had built a good working relationship. They had learned to trust to each other and, while Clint’s methods were unconventional to the point of entrapment at times, Phil had to respect the results. Clint had an uncanny ability to read people and see details nobody else saw. The team’s arrest and conviction rate, which had been impressive prior to Clint’s recruitment, nearly tripled in the last two years. 

What hadn’t thawed, despite a long string of solved cases behind them, are Phil and Clint’s personal interactions. Clint had struck up easy friendships with the rest of the team - he makes Romanoff laugh, beats Woo at chess, and has a common love of food with Sitwell - but still keeps Phil at arms length. Clint never calls him anything but Coulson or Detective and never, ever makes physical contact. It frustrates Phil that they can’t get past this, especially since he’s never shaken his attraction for Clint from that first meeting. 

“Ninety-nine percent of bad guys always give something away when they’re standing in the middle of a crime scene,” Clint answers. “And I wouldn’t need to change the station all the time if you had satellite radio. Seriously, Coulson. Who doesn’t have satellite radio these days? Better yet, why couldn’t we take my car?”

“Because we’re on a case,” Phil answers, “this is a government vehicle, and yours is a ridiculously purple sports car.”

“You can’t possibly be insulting my McLaren?!” Clint exclaims in mock shock.

“There’s nothing wrong with the McLaren,” Phil replies, “but did your boyfriend have to custom paint it purple?”

“Purple _is_ my favorite color,” Clint defends, “and Stark is not and has never been my boyfriend. I told you. It was a thank you gift for helping him find a mole in his R &D department.”

“Are you telling me you never slept with Stark?” Phil asks.

“I didn’t say that,” Clint admits and Phil fights a wave of jealousy. “Aside from the whole billionaire, genius, philanthropist thing, the guy is charming as fuck and pretty awesome in...uh...yeah.” Again as usual, Clint realizes he’s revealing too much and pulls back. “So I know we can’t dig into Watkins’ financials without cause, but I really do think there’s got to be a paper trail there we need to find before he erases it.”

“Then I guess you better find us cause,” Phil says as they pull up to the main suspect’s house. 

Phil gets out of the car and walks around the front to the sidewalk, nodding to Watkins, who is standing out front leaning against a tree. Clint shuts the passenger side door and turns toward the SUV parking behind them that is carrying Woo, Romanoff, and Sitwell. In the next instant, Clint is moving faster than Phil would have imagined. He spins, jumps, and tackles Phil to the ground, shielding the detective with his own body as a barrage of gunfire rings out.

Before Phil registers that Clint is moving again, the younger man has already grabbed Phil’s gun out of his holster, scrambled to crouch behind the car, and fired two shots in quick succession. There’s a scream and the sound of what must be the assassin’s gun falling to the sidewalk, followed by silence. 

“What the hell was that?” Phil asks, looking up at the mentalist.

“Uh...sorry?” Clint says and very gently puts Phil’s gun on the ground between them.

“Are you guys okay?” Sitwell asks breathlessly as he crouches next to them. “Woo and Romanoff are headed into the building.”

“Second floor, fourth window in,” Clint supplies.

“We’re good,” Phil adds. “Call for backup and an ambulance for the shooter, then follow Woo and Romanoff.”

Phil pushes himself to a standing position, knowing Clint won’t offer him a hand up, and straightens just as Clint hauls back and punches Watkins hard in the face. Watkins slams back against the tree, but doesn’t go down and Clint reels his fist back for another punch. Phil wraps an arm around Clint’s waist and pulls him away before he can finish the swing. 

“Calm down, Barton,” Phil orders and keeps his arm around the younger man to stave off any more attacks. “Explain yourself.”

“I saw the fucker duck behind the tree before the shots were fired. How’s that for cause?” Clint fumes. “Bet the shooter can ID him and those types always turn easy.”

Watkins pales and Phil suddenly realizes that his hand is damp. He pulls his hand away from Clint and looks down to find it covered in blood.

“Clint! You’re hit,” Phil says.

“I’m what?” Clint asks in surprise and then looks down at Phil’s hand. “Oh.”

“Sitwell!” Phil yells at the detective who is just crossing the street. “Barton’s hit!” Phil turns back to Clint. “Come on, let’s get you over to the car so I can take a look.”

“No!” Clint protests and tries to pull away, but Phil keeps a firm hand on the younger man’s hip. “I’m good. It’s probably just a graze.”

Phil nearly growls in frustration. “At least go sit down,” he orders, letting go of Clint and turning to Watkins. “You move an inch and I’ll give him back my gun so he can shoot you - in both knees.”

Phil walks over to the car, shrugs off his jacket, folds it, and presses it to Clint’s side. “Here. Keep pressure on it.”

“Awww, Coulson,” Clint whines. “You didn’t have to ruin your jacket. It’s one of your favorite suits.”

“Ambulance should be here in a --” Jasper’s comment is cut off by the sirens of approaching squad cars and the ambulance.

Woo and Romanoff come back with the injured shooter in tow as Clint is climbing into the back of the ambulance and waving off pain medication. The shooter has bullet wounds in the hand and shoulder, which causes Natasha to look at Clint with surprised respect. 

“So you weren’t kidding about being a sniper in a past life?” she asks.

“If you consider joining the army after getting kicked out of the circus a past life, then no. Ow! Fucking - ow!” Clint cries as a paramedic presses a patch of gauze to his side. 

Phil rolls his eyes and hands his keys to Woo before climbing into the ambulance himself, ignoring Clint’s look of confusion. “Bring my car to the hospital. I’m gonna ride with Mr. I’m-too-macho-for-pain-meds here to make sure the docs don’t refuse to treat him.”

“Sure thing boss,” Woo responds before throwing a grin at Clint. “Hell of a shot, Barton. Been wanting to slug Watkins since we started this case.”

The paramedics shut the doors before Phil can reprimand Woo, so he settles for glaring at Barton until the mentalist ducks his head to hide his smirk.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It is just a graze, but the gash is deep enough into Clint’s side that it requires stitches. As Phil feared, Clint continues to refuse all but local anesthesia at the hospital and the doctors - more likely their lawyers - won’t stitch him up without a general in fear of the mentalist flinching during the procedure. Phil finally resorts to the threat of stitching Clint up himself, citing his own army experience as a medic, and knowing that Barton will go out of his way to avoid being touched by the detective. It’s a low blow, but it gets Barton to acquiesce to a mild general anesthesia, so Phil’s not going to waste time feeling guilty or hurt about it.

Phil sends the rest of the team back to the office to deal with Watkins and sticks around the hospital to take Clint home. He isn’t quite prepared to find out exactly why the mentalist was so against a sedative.

“Phiiiiiilllll. I feel...” Clint says joyfully upon waking and seeing Phil, before breaking off in a giggle. “Phil feels. Phil feels his fill. I fill a Phil with feels,” he sing-songs and then collapses in another fit of giggles.

Phil can only sit frozen in his chair as he watches Clint continue to giggle and look at him with fond happiness. Clint on drugs is more adorable than an excited puppy and Phil has to sit on his hands to avoid ruffling the mentalist’s hair and cuddling him. Phil tells himself to get it together and quickly grabs their things so he can take Barton home before he does something incredibly stupid like kiss the man while he’s still drugged.

Getting Clint to his apartment proves to be a challenge because he insists on draping himself all over Phil the entire time. They get to Clint’s front door and Phil nearly drops the keys when the mentalist presses up against Phil’s back and nuzzles the side of his neck.

“Mmmm. You smell nice, Phil. You always smell so nice,” Clint purrs and Phil shoves the door open, taking a quick step forward that causes the younger man to stumble. “Whoa! Hey...wooooo. The room’s all spinny, Phil.”

Phil doesn’t bother hiding his own fond smile as he watches Clint turn in circles a few times with his arms spread wide.

“Come spin with me, Phil!” 

A small laugh escapes from Phil as he locks the door and walks toward Clint. He reaches out and grabs Clint’s arms to stop him from spinning. “You should probably stop before you make yourself sick,” Phil suggests.

“What?” Clint asks, face scrunched up in childlike confusion. “Oh...yeah. Dizzy.”

Phil sucks in a breath as Clint steps forward into him and drops his head on the detective’s shoulder. Phil holds the breath as Clint wraps his arms around his waist, before releasing it in a helpless sigh as he wraps his own arms around the younger man’s back. Phil is down to his undershirt, having given Clint his button-down at the hospital, and can feel the warmth radiating from the mentalist as he continues to hug him. Phil battles both a surge of desire and a flare of fierce protectiveness - he is well and truly screwed.

“I feel funny,” Clint complains and Phil lets his arms tighten once before stepping back.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Phil suggests and leads them toward where he assumes Clint’s bedroom is. “Can you use the bathroom on your own?”

“I think so,” Clint mumbles, walking through his bedroom and into the bathroom beyond. 

Phil goes back out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and walks back in as Clint comes out of the bathroom in just his boxer briefs and Phil’s shirt. Phil’s mouth goes dry at the sight and he purposely turns away to put the glass on the bedside table. Clint walks up, uncoordinated fingers pawing uselessly against the small buttons, and looks pleadingly at Phil. The detective steels himself and reaches out to undo the buttons, unable to keep his eyes from devouring every inch of skin he uncovers. Phil’s fingers itch to touch, but he forces himself to take a large step back and give Clint room to shrug off the shirt and crawl under the covers.

“Phil?” Clint asks plaintively from the bed and Phil can’t keep himself from stepping closer. Clint scoots over, so Phil sits on the edge of the bed, surprised when Clint reaches out and grabs Phil’s hand. The mentalist sighs happily and closes his eyes, leaving Phil unsure what to do.

Looking down at Clint’s peaceful face, Phil finally lets one prevailing thought surface. _Clint stepped in front of a bullet for me today._

“Mmm...I’d do it again. Keep you safe. Important,” Clint mumbles sleepily and Phil startles. 

_What the hell?_ Phil thinks. He knows he didn’t say that out loud. A myriad of possibilities runs through his head and he watches as Clint brow furrows. Working on a small theory, Phil covers their joined hands with his free one and thinks as soothingly as he can, _It’s okay. I’m fine. You’re safe. Go to sleep._

Clint’s brow smooths out and Phil forces himself to keep thinking calming thoughts. The mentalist’s breathing eventually evens out and Phil gently pulls his hands away before leaving the room. He collapses onto Clint’s couch, overwhelmed by the unexpected development. Phil racks his brain, going over the past two years, and coming up with multiple instances when Clint’s abilities had seemed beyond belief. He pulls the throw blanket off the back of the couch and settles down underneath it, suddenly bone tired, but needing to be here when Clint wakes up in the morning. 

Phil now knows that Clint is a true telepath and they have a lot to talk about. 


	2. The Mentalist

Clint wakes up with an achy side, a fuzzy head, and vague memories of making a fool of himself in front of Ph-- Coulson. He groans. Just when Clint thought he was finally earning the seasoned detective’s respect, he had to go and ruin it.

Clint lets his thoughts focus on Coulson and is surprised when he gets an unexpected twinge of his presence nearby. He sits up in bed, doubling over in pain when the action pulls at his stitches. 

“Fuck,” Clint grimaces and looks up when he hears a sound by the door. Nope, he wasn’t imagining it. Phil Coulson is still in his apartment.

Phil rushes over when he sees Clint and Clint automatically retreats away from his touch. It’s hard enough staying out of Coulson’s head without them making skin-to-skin contact. Phil stops a foot away and lets his hands drop to his sides. Clint thinks he sees a flash of disappointment in the detective’s eyes and wishes for the millionth time that Coulson didn’t have this effect on him - that Clint could touch the older man without invading his privacy. Clint had never encountered anyone, until Coulson, that made it impossible to keep their thoughts at bay. With everyone else, he could pretend to be normal and act like he wasn’t a freak. But with Coulson, just being in the same room with the detective made Clint aware of exactly what he was feeling, if not his actual thoughts, and Clint never wanted to repeat what had happened that first day when he’d shaken Phil’s hand. 

“I was just making breakfast,” Phil says calmly as if Clint hadn’t just recoiled from him like a kicked puppy. “Your pain meds say to take them with food, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Oh...um...thanks,” Clint says and straightens up. “You didn’t have to.”

“Least I could do,” Phil replies with a kind smile. “Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in the kitchen?”

Clint nods and buries his face in his hands when he realizes he’s just in his underwear. He can only hope to God that he hadn’t made a fool of himself by making a pass at Phil like he’d always wanted to. He should probably be glad that Phil’s dedication to the members of his team has kept him from running away screaming from Clint’s apartment. 

Knowing he can’t hide out in his room, Clint gets up, uses the bathroom, and digs out a pair of sleep pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Phil has somehow scrounged up ingredients for pancakes out of Clint’s sparse pantry and made enough to feed a small army. Clint’s stomach grows embarrassingly as he sits at the table and Phil chuckles.

Clint is half way through his second stack of pancakes when he realizes that Phil feels different. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he thinks Phil feels...hopeful. 

"Uh...thanks for...um...staying last night and for the pancakes," Clint says, swallowing heavily. 

Phil moves too fast for Clint to pull away in time and places his hand over Clint's on the table. 

_You are more than welcome._

Clint flinches away as if burned, standing up and overturning his chair in his flight away from Phil. He's too horrified to feel the pain in his side and stumbles back until his back hits the wall, panting like he's just run miles instead of back-pedaling a few feet. Clint shuts his eyes, unable to watch the way Phil's face falls, and braces himself against the waves of disappointment rolling off the older man. It's all too much and he slides down the wall, dropping his head onto his knees and wrapping his arms around them. 

"Clint," Phil says softly and the disappointment fades into concern. Clint hears Phil move and curls into a tighter ball - Phil thankfully doesn't try and touch him again. "Please talk to me. You have to trust me when I say I'll keep your secret. I just want to understand why you would hide your gift and why you can't stand to touch me."

Clint looks up to find Phil crouched a few feet in front of him. Clint’s lips twist into a bitter smile. “It’s not a gift,” Clint corrects. “I’m a freak.”

“Clint,” Phil says patiently. “Telepaths are still rare, but their abilities are well documented and accepted. It doesn’t make you a freak.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” Phil pleads and Clint is surprised to feel that Coulson is actively sending calming thoughts toward him. Phil smiles and stands. “Maybe we could talk somewhere more comfortable?”

Clint nods and Phil steps closer with his hands in front of him and clearly telegraphing his movements. Phil helps Clint stand with a hand at his elbow and Clint suddenly finds himself standing almost nose to nose with the older man. Looking into Phil’s eyes and surrounded by the sense of safety he always exuded, Clint realizes that this discussion, a chance to lay bare all that he is, has been a long time in coming. He nods again and Phil’s smile widens in relief.

“Do you want your pain meds?” Phil asks. “Nothing too strong, I promise. Docs said they’re mostly extra strength ibuprofen.” 

“Um...sure,” Clint responds and ducks his head, unused to having someone else care for him.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” Phil suggests. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Okay.” Clint tries a small smile of his own and a wave of happiness flows out of Phil.

Clint shuffles slowly to the couch, his injury unhappy with all of his uncontrolled movements from earlier. Phil comes in with coffee and a bottle of pills, Clint taking both gratefully. He takes a long sip of coffee before placing the mug on the coffee table and leaning forward onto his knees. _Like ripping of a band-aid_ , Clint thinks and begins to speak.

“I’m not a real telepath...or not a full one, I guess. When it first started to manifest, my mom was so excited. I think she saw it as a path to getting us away from my dad. He, uh, never knew. We kept it a secret and after they died, I didn’t want CPS to separate me from Barney, so we just kept on keeping it a secret. We thought I’d get stronger - could use it to go out on our own - but I never did. Barn said I was the only one who could screw up being a freak.”

“I wish you would stop saying that,” Phil says and Clint looks over at the detective in confusion. “Whatever you are, telepath or not, you’re not a freak. You should never have needed to hide your gift. Telepaths are still rare enough to be revered, no matter how minor your abilities may be.”

Clint lets out a bitter laugh and it’s Phil’s turn to be confused. “There’s a fine line between being revered and being ostracized, Phil,” Clint says. “The last thing I want is to be cloistered away with others of _my kind_ , with my only value being my ability to steal people’s thoughts out of their heads. When was the last time you saw a telepath hanging out at bar with his friends?”

“I...never saw it that way,” Phil concedes. 

Clint shrugs. “Either way, I’m not a strong enough telepath for it to matter. I typically only gets bits and pieces - a jumble of thoughts that I have to pick through. People have to be pretty focused on whatever they’re thinking for it to come across, strong emotions too. Most of what I do really is just being highly observant, the telepathy just helps it along.”

“You said typically,” Phil points out. “Am I different?”

Clint looks away and down at his hands to keep from telling Phil that he’s very different - in all the best ways.

“Yeah,” Clint says instead. “I...uh...can’t keep you out. I usually have to try pretty hard to, um, sense what people are feeling and get bits of their thoughts. Back at the circus, I needed to be touching them and they had to be willing to let me in.”

“I thought the whole touch thing was just an old wive’s tale?” Phil asks.

“It is. Most telepaths don’t need it, but a lot of people believe in it, so it helps relax their barriers - kind of like giving permission for me to enter their heads,” Clint explains. 

“And I’m different.” It’s not a question this time.

“I can’t be in the same room as you without knowing at least a little of what you’re feeling,” Clint confesses without looking up. “That one handshake...I...I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I’ve tried blocking it, but I can’t. I’ve never meant to invade your privacy and I’m sorry.”

“What did you get that first time?” Phil asks, concerned.

“That you pretty much hated me on principle,” Clint replies. He doesn’t see Phil wince. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so short-sighted,” Phil says and Clint looks up at the unexpected apology. Clint narrows his eyes when he realizes something else.

“You’re not freaking out,” Clint says incredulously.

“No, I’m not,” Phil responds with a shrug. “Whether or not we consider it an invasion of privacy, you’ve never used it against me. I trust you not to do so in the future. I just...”

“Just?” Clint prods when Phil doesn’t continue.

“I just wish you wouldn’t flinch every time I got near you,” Phil says and Clint blinks at how the detective’s ears go a little pink.

“I’d like that too,” Clint says sadly, “but that would be an invasion of privacy. You just proved that in the kitchen. I can’t not hear what you’re thinking when we touch.”

“Do you have any idea why?” Phil asks and Clint doesn’t miss how he edges closer on the couch, not further away.

“I read something about telepathic resonance,” Clint replies. “It’s why most police departments have multiple telepaths on staff. There are certain people telepaths can’t read and, though it’s rare, certain people they can’t keep out.”

“So you’re saying we think on the same wavelength?” Phil smirks. 

“Something like that,” Clint says, grinning back. 

“Maybe,” Phil says, very carefully putting his hand on Clint’s clothed knee, and Clint feels the hopefulness from earlier return. “Maybe it just takes practice. Or we can work out when it’s okay to touch and when it’s not. I just...I want to be able to touch you, Clint.”

“Are you sure?” Clint has to ask. “Because I...I’d really like to be able to touch you too.”

Phil doesn’t answer verbally, but slides his hand over until it’s covering one of Clint’s. There’s that same shock of sudden awareness and, this time, Clint accepts it instead of flinching away. 

_I’m sure._

Phil’s response is followed by an influx of more ambiguous feelings - trust, acceptance, attraction, affection. Clint expects it to be overwhelming, but instead it’s soothing in a way that he should have expected of anything originating from Phil. He unconsciously leans closer to the older man and Clint watches as Phil’s eyes drop to his lips. There’s a surge of need from Phil and Clint closes the distance between them.

It’s chaste at first, nothing more than a gentle press of their lips, but they’ve both been harboring their attraction for too long and Clint can’t help parting his lips Phil leans closer. The kiss turns heated as Phil presses Clint against the back of the couch and Clint lets go of Phil’s hand to clutch at the detective’s back. 

Suddenly, there are images and sensation flooding Clint’s mind. He sees himself standing in front of Phil, his shirt unbuttoned and chest bare to Phil’s exploring hands as they roam along warm skin. The Phil in his mind leans closer, his tongue and lips following the path his hands had taken across Clint’s chest and then inexorably downward.

Clint pulls away from the kiss with a gasp, overwhelmed in the best way possible, and Phil looks at him with concern.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

“Jesus, Phil,” Clint responds breathlessly. “Yes, I’m okay - more than okay. That was...what was...did you just...?”

“Oh,” Phil says and Clint gapes at the wicked gleam in the detective’s eyes. “I guess that worked then. That could come in handy in the future.”

Clint wants to swoon at Phil’s use of the word future. He’d never imagined anyone finding out what he was and not running for the hills - never imagined having a future with someone who would accept him for everything that he is. Clint makes a helpless sound in the back of his throat and reels Phil in for another kiss. 

It’s too early for declarations of love, but it’s a small step on the long road ahead of them. There will be bad days when neither of their combined skills and abilities will be enough to solve the tough cases, days when they learn that misunderstandings come just as easily with thoughts as they do with words, and days when they’re each overwhelmed by the connection they share. But there will also be many more good days to overcome the bad and Clint will slowly learn that Phil’s unequivocal support will never waver.

For now, it’s enough that they’ve found each other and Clint, for the first time since he was six and heard his mother’s cries inside his head, believes he is no longer a secret to be hidden, but a person worthy of being cherished.

_fin_


End file.
